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Fractionally More Stupid, Part 5

, , , | Right | March 14, 2024

Customer: “I want my drink half coffee and a quarter hot chocolate.”

Me: “But that’s only three-quarters of a drink.”

Customer: “I want my drink half coffee and a quarter hot chocolate. I won’t repeat myself.”

Me: “Are you sure you don’t want two-thirds coffee with a third hot chocolate? Or three-quarters coffee with a quarter hot chocolate?”

Customer: “I won’t repeat myself.”

I make three-quarters of a drink for her.

Customer: “This isn’t full!”

Me: “Yes, that’s half coffee and a quarter hot chocolate.”

Customer: “I want a full drink!”

Me: “Would you like more coffee or more chocolate?”

Customer: “I want half coffee and a quarter hot chocolate!”

I just shrug and put in some coffee.

Customer: *Sips* “This is too much coffee!”

I pour a little out and add some chocolate.

Customer: *Sips* “This is too much chocolate!”

I give up, get two cups, fill both with half coffee and a quarter hot chocolate, and then pour both into an XL cup.

Me: “Here. Half coffee and a quarter hot chocolate!”

Customer: *Sips* “Now was that so hard?”

Me: “It really, really was.”

Related:
Fractionally More Stupid, Part 4
Fractionally More Stupid, Part 3
Fractionally More Stupid, Part 2
Fractionally More Stupid

Best We Can Do Is Rome, Georgia

, , , , , , | Right | March 12, 2024

I work at an Italian restaurant, and I am explaining the menu to a couple who just sat down. I am mere seconds in when the woman starts scolding me.

Customer: “No! You’re not pronouncing ‘Bruschetta’ with the right roll on the R! When my husband and I spend money on a nice Italian dinner, then we also expect it to be the same experience as when we visit Italy ourselves!”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but I can’t roll my Rs like that.”

Customer: “Then why are you working in an Italian restaurant?”

Me: “Because this is Saskatchewan, and we’re between a McDonald’s and a Korean BBQ place… and this is an Olive Garden.”

When The Fussy Toddler Is Better Behaved Than The Adults

, , , , , , , , | Right | March 12, 2024

My wife and I traveled to Montreal, arriving on a Sunday evening. The city shuts down fairly early on Sundays (most places anyway), and that included the dining room in our hotel. Fortunately, the hotel knew of a small cafe a short walk away that they thought would still be open, but, “Don’t delay… Go now!”

We got there, and the cafe was open, but the manager advised us that they would close in an hour.

Manager: “In Canada, that means lights off, doors locked, kitchen and dining room closed, and employees on their way home. Given that, we can’t make all the items on our menu, but if you allow it, I can recommend some great options.”

Me: “Of course!”

We then observed a couple with a young child at one table, and at a second table, another couple about our age. We sat down after accepting the manager’s suggestion for dinner.

The young child was a bit antsy — not surprising for it being a bit late for his age, which I guessed to be around three or four. He wasn’t particularly loud, but he was a bit whiny, and he did get up and wander a bit.

That is when the woman of the younger couple said loudly:

Young Woman: “You’d think they could control that child.”

The comments escalated from there. The young man at one point said:

Young Man: “I’d have had him outside and over my knee long before this.”

A little while later, their server went over and whispered something to them. We couldn’t hear that, but we heard the young man boom out:

Young Man:We are not the problem. They and that out-of-control child are! Either they — or you — get a handle on that child or throw them out!”

There was a little back-and-forth, and then the young woman loudly demanded:

Young Woman: “Give us the phone number to CPS! I’m going to call them right now!”

All this time, the manager and the server kept casting nervous glances at my wife and me. Then, the chef appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was a little short guy. None of them would be a match for the loudmouth guy judging by size alone.

I was small but fit; my wife was also small but fit, a one-time fitness instructor who also had training in martial arts. I think the manager sensed that if we sided with them, we’d quickly gain the upper hand. Still, as a person with manners, he had not yet called the police — amazing restraint on his part.

Finally, he worked up the courage, walked up to their table, and demanded:

Manager: “Leave now or I’ll call the police.”

He looked at us. We both gave him a thumbs-up and, with that, he said once more, with full resolve:

Manager: “OUT… NOW!”

The couple got up and headed toward the door. Then, the manager pointed out that there was still the small matter of the tab to settle or they’d face jail for sure.

They paid, fuming all the way, and left.

He then approached us with a quiet thanks and glasses of wine on the house.

They’re Lucky There Was No Deluge Of Consequences

, , , , , , | Working | March 11, 2024

This happened a few years ago when I was the groundskeeper at a small hospital. In addition to the plants and greenery, I also maintained the parking lot. In the winter, we were very, very generous with our use of sand in the parking lot for pedestrian traction. We couldn’t have patients or staff falling on their way in.

Every spring, once the snow was done for the season, I had to clean up the parking lot. In addition to all the sand, there was usually garbage and stuff that had been hidden under the snow. Usually, I used heavy equipment with a broom attachment, but this particular year, my supervisor brought me a few hundred feet of fire hose, all the fittings, and the special tools required to open a fire hydrant valve. There was a fire hydrant at one end of the parking lot, near an entrance to the lot from a side street, between the sidewalk and the lot. Another hydrant was at the other end of the lot, outside the building.

Me: “Whoa, this is neat. Is the fire department coming to wash our parking lot this year?” 

Supervisor: “No, you’ll be doing it; that’s why I’ve brought you all this equipment.” 

Me: “I’m guessing we have the permission needed to use the fire hydrant? I don’t imagine the City or the Fire Department want just anyone using the fire hydrants.” 

Supervisor: “These fire hydrants actually belong to the hospital, so we don’t need any special permission.” 

This surprised me.

Me: “Really?” 

Supervisor: “Yes.” 

Me: “Are you sure?” 

Supervisor: “Yes.” 

Me: “Are you super certain, [Supervisor]?”

Supervisor: “Yes!”

Me: “Okay, if you say so!” 

I sort of had my doubts, but my supervisor had never led me astray before, so I made plans for my task. I waited for a sunny day above zero degrees. Due to the shape and layout of the lot, I decided to start at the side entrance first, close to the hydrant, and make my way closer to the centre of the lot. All the sand and garbage would be forced to a particular spot where I would remove it from the lot entirely later. I would have to close parts of the parking lot, in sections, so that vehicles weren’t parking in my workspace — and so that I didn’t accidentally blast anyone’s vehicle with high-pressure water. 

Finally, the day to clean the lot arrived. I hooked up my fire hose, ensured that all of the fittings were correctly in place, and opened the valve. As people parked where I wasn’t working, many admired or made comments about my using a fire hose and fire hydrant. Most were surprised that I was allowed to do this. 

A few minutes in, a City truck drove by. I waved, as I usually do when they drive by. Ten more minutes passed, and another City truck drove by. There was a City park nearby, so I figured the City workers were getting a jump start on spring cleaning in the park.

After a few more minutes, an unmarked truck drove into the parking lot and around my barricades. I was annoyed because some people don’t think that signs or barricades apply to them. A man got out of the truck and approached me.

Man: “Hi. I’m [Man] from the City. You cannot use this fire hydrant.” 

I immediately shut off the water.

Me: “I’m sorry. I’m [My Name] from the hospital. My supervisor, [Supervisor], instructed me to do this. I’ll admit, I was surprised this was allowed!” 

Man: “It’s not. Is your supervisor around?” 

Me: “I saw him get in a few minutes ago. Let me give him a call.” 

I called [Supervisor] and told him that [Man] from the City was shutting me down and that he wanted to talk to him. My supervisor agreed and said he’d be right over. 

I asked [Man] if he was okay with me closing the valve and disconnecting my hoses and fittings. He said yes, and he double-checked afterward that the hydrant was secure. 

My supervisor arrived, and he and [Man] had a good chat while I started wrapping up hundreds of feet of hose. As it turned out, we did “own” the hydrant outside the building but not the hydrant on the side street. We could technically use the hydrant outside the building, but probably due to the way that water was delivered to the hydrants, we would still need permission from the City to use it — more of a heads-up, so that if there was a fire elsewhere in the city, the firefighters would be aware that a hydrant was already in use and to shut us down if more water pressure was needed for the real fire. 

My supervisor did not fight the City on this, but he did decide that this was too much of a hassle for cleaning up the parking lot. While it was fun to use a fire hose, I agreed that I could clean the lot like I usually did: with heavy equipment on a rainy day. I don’t know what happened to the fire hose and fittings my supervisor got.

What’s Next, Kicking Puppies?

, , , , , , | Legal | March 9, 2024

I was waiting to pick up someone at the hospital, and I watched a guy back his truck into a Cadillac parked in the spots reserved for people there for cancer treatments. It left a decent dent in the Cadillac, too. This garbage human got out of his truck, looked at the dent, got back into his truck, and drove off.

Dude, you are stupid. Four people saw you do that, took photos of you doing it, signed witness statements, and provided our information and photos of you, your truck, and your license plate to the owner of the Cadillac.

One, you aren’t getting away with anything when everyone has a camera in their pocket, and two, the owner of that car had enough on their plate without dealing with the police and a hit-and-run insurance claim.